


Burns Like Gin

by tristinai



Series: Worse Decisions [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background HankCon - Freeform, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Nines, Facials, Gangster!Gavin, Human!RK900, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Recreational Drug Use, Size Kink, Top!Gavin, mentions of Gavin/OMC, mentions of police brutality, reed900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: Angered at how easily Gavin manipulated him, Richard's determined to forget the gangster and the night they spent together. But as he slips further into his destructive behavior, Richard finds himself back on the gangster's radar.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Worse Decisions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963867
Comments: 37
Kudos: 111





	Burns Like Gin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrightestStarInTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarInTheSky/gifts).



> Hello, everyone! Thank you guys for all your wonderful comments. I wrote _Powder & Fuse_ back in May so I wasn't expecting anyone to still be interested in these characters (or a reversed version of them) and was surprised that you guys wanted more. So, here's more! 
> 
> Special thanks to my good friends [BrightestStarInTheSky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightestStarInTheSky/pseuds/BrightestStarInTheSky) and [MechanicalBones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MechanicalBones) for all the encouragement and feedback they've offered as I've fleshed out this verse. It would have remained merely an idea in my head if it wasn't for you guys <3
> 
> Like always, please check the tags to make sure you are comfortable with the themes in these stories. If you've read _Bad Decisions_ , ya'll know what I like to write and how I don't shy away from characters being terrible so you can expect much of the same here.
> 
> Enjoy!

Another night of restless sleep. Every night has been like this since Richard’s failed attempt to earn Gavin’s favor. It’s been more than a week and whenever Richard’s not fighting to give into his body’s cry for stimulants, he’s pushing down the memory of Gavin’s touch. Tossing and turning, telling himself he doesn’t give a fuck. But that’s an empty thought as every image behind his closed eyes keeps him too alert to succumb to slumber but too exhausted to get out of bed.

“ _Nines.”_

He hears it. A moan that caresses his ear, phantom hands that traverse his bare chest.

“ _Sweetheart.”_

And he shivers in spite of the heat curling low in his abdomen, his blood awakened and flowing lower.

“ _Gorgeous.”_

_Enough of this!_ Richard thinks, refusing to satisfy the ache. He rolls to his side, throws back the covers, and grabs his phone. The time reflecting on its screen makes him glare. At least another hour until he needs to get up and he still hasn’t slept.

He bites back a pained groan.

He’s _not_ going to touch himself. He’s going to stop thinking of Gavin and get some sleep. He’s not going to let Gavin _win._

He flops back, closing his eyes and forcing his mind to empty. When that doesn’t work, he tries counting backwards from one hundred. But the voice echoing in his head is not his own, becoming gruff and cocky. Richard swears he can hear Gavin mocking him when reason tells him this is only a whisper in his mind. Even in his own head, Gavin’s still an asshole but it doesn’t stop Richard from wanting him.

Frustrated, Richard opens his eyes and glares at the ceiling. It’s stupid to be enticed by someone so...so obnoxious and crude and who obviously has it out for him. Or Connor. But this wouldn’t be the first time Richard’s fallen for someone who was thinking of Connor while inside him. _Not_ that Richard’s fallen. He’s simply intrigued and seems to have a bad habit of desiring men who have more interest in his twin. In retrospect, his stimulants addiction is probably healthier.

_This is ridiculous. I don’t_ _ **like**_ _Gavin Reed,_ he thinks, angrily.

Denial’s always been easier.

Giving up on sleep, Richard sits at the edge of the bed. There’s a tremor in his fingers, an itch that he wants so badly to scratch. If it’s not his dick torturing him, it’s the cravings. It hits him from the moment he gets up, every waking second a challenge. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. But the longer he does, the less he wants to.

_You can make it stop,_ his brain tempts him. _Give in._

Richard grips the mattress so tightly, it leaves his knuckles white.

The sound of someone shuffling about in the kitchen pulls Richard from his train of thought. Connor’s probably making some coffee. But the thought leaves Richard slightly troubled: since when is Connor up this early?

Taking a moment to calm the erection he’s been sporting, Richard gets out of bed and grabs one of the neatly folded Henleys out of the upper drawer of his dresser. With his phone in hand, he heads into the kitchen and does a double take as he sees _who_ is leaning against the island, sipping at an Americano purchased from his favorite cafe. Another cup of untouched coffee sits in the middle of the counter and if Richard had to wager a guess, he’d bet it’s another Americano.

“You’re up early,” Richard says, standing the opposite side of the island and retrieving the coffee. He takes a sip of it and has to swallow a groan. It’s that Nicaraguan roast he’s so fond of.

North cocks a brow, her lips curling in an amused smirk. She looks far too put together for five thirty in the morning. He can’t help but be envious. “Up early? I haven’t slept yet.”

“ _That_ is not healthy,” Richard grumbles. Not that he should be lecturing anyone on their habits. “When Connor and I gave you the spare key, that wasn’t an invitation for impromptu early morning visits.”

But his mild irritation is immediately forgotten as he drinks once more from his cup. Coffee solves everything.

“I believe it was none other than the infamous Detective Richard Stern who sent me _this_ message last night: _Stop by in the morning. Come early_ ,” North reads off her phone. “You know how I feel about mornings, Rich.”

“Sleeping until noon isn’t a lifestyle choice I endorse.” He loves getting under North’s skin and seeing her glare makes him smirk. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Only _you_ are insane enough to get up this early. Connor says you like to get in a morning run with a side of brooding. Not gonna lie, my money’s always been on the brooding.”

“I do not _brood_.”

“Says the same jerk who gave me the silent treatment after I roped him into a week of cat sitting.” The cat sitting. Why does she need to bring that up? He **hates** cats. “Ser Pounce misses using you as a scratching post.”

“ _Ruminating_ is not the same as brooding,” Richard complains. He decides that there are some things coffee can’t actually solve. “And you can tell that demonic pet of yours I will turn it into a hat if it so much as hisses at me the next time I am at your place. I know your fondness for speaking to dumb animals, in spite of being well aware they can’t respond, nor care for conversation.”

“You’re right; I always find myself talking to dumb animals,” North replies, looking quite pointedly at Richard.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I suppose I walked right into that one.”

“It’s okay; I forgive you.”

“I wasn’t apologizing.”

“Best friend code: the apology is implied,” North says, with a smirk. “But don’t expect me to get between you and Ser Pounce the next time you piss him off.”

“If I recall, you were too busy laughing the last time that feral cat of yours attacked me to get between us.”

“He’s not feral; he loves Connor.”

“Everyone loves Connor,” Richard says, with more bite than he intends.

“I’ve had coffee less bitter than that.”

“Did you bring what I asked for or not?” Richard snaps, losing the last of his patience. His fingers tremble around the coffee he’s holding.

With a roll of her eyes, North reaches into her bag. “Geez, Rich, lighten up. It took a bit of digging but I think I found our ‘guy’.”

Pulling out a series of photos, she drops them onto the counter top. Richard glances over them: a woman, who looks to be in her early 30s. Most of the photos are poorly shot, as if the woman knew she was being followed and managed to evade North’s camera lens. The last, however, catches Richard’s attention: it’s one of her getting into the passenger side of a vehicle he knows belongs to Gavin Reed.

“ _That,_ ” North says, indicating to the woman in the photo, “is Tina Chen.”

When North doesn’t continue, Richard raises his gaze sharply to hers. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

North shrugs and takes a long sip of her coffee. Her nonchalance is starting to get on Richard’s nerves, not helped by the cravings. “I thought you might know her, seeing as she’s an ex-cop.”

Okay, now _that_ is something Richard isn’t expecting. “I’ve never heard of her. She must have worked for another precinct.”

“The Sixth, from what my contact said.”

“No surprise: Kamski owns half of the cops there,” Richard says. The corruption at the Sixth is something every cop is aware of, with the precinct’s captain wrapped firmly around Kamski’s finger. In fact, had the murder Richard was investigating gone to the Sixth, he knows Captain Chau would have found some way to bury the case and deem the victim’s death as ‘accidental’. “But if Chen is one of theirs, why was she let go? Wouldn’t she be more useful to Reed as a cop?”

“My contact at the Sixth said Chen quit a few years ago,” North explains. “Chen was one of the ‘good ones’. But, you know my thoughts on ‘good cops’.”

“You’ve expressed your thoughts on the topic quite thoroughly,” Richard remarks, hoping he’s spared another rant. North ‘tolerates’ his and Connor’s profession and if it wasn’t for a friendship that dated back to high school, he doubts she’d even look at him for being another of Detroit’s ‘pigs’.

“As long as you know where I stand.” She pauses and takes another drink of her Americano. “Anyway, Chen couldn’t take all the bullshit. The last straw for her was when an eye witness under the precinct’s protection was found hanged. Labeled a ‘suicide’ but Chen knew better.”

“Strange how civilians in witness protection have a way of dying under Chau’s watch.”

At this point, the corruption’s become so blatant, Richard’s surprised nobody’s bothered to investigate. If he had to bet good money on it, he would guess the Commissioner is also in Kamski’s pocket.

“I don’t think ‘strange’ is the word I’d use,” North says, bitterly. “So, all this goes down and Chen made a big show of quitting; even told Chau where he can shove her badge. And that brings us to today: Tina Chen, P.I.”

North taps the business card in the center of the counter.

Richard scrutinizes the woman in the photo. “If what you’re saying is true, then how does a jaded, ex-cop end up working for Gavin Reed?”

“This is where the story gets interesting,” North says, leaning in conspiratorially. “You remember that arms dealer you guys found last year? The one at the pier?”

Richard cocks a brow. “Are you referring to Zlatko Andronikov?”

“Take one wild guess _who_ Chen’s witness was supposed to testify against in court.”

The dots connect and Richard jabs at the photo of Tina getting into Reed’s car. “So, Chen quits because a witness dies under their watch. The charges against Andronikov are dropped and he’s found dead a year later.”

“Weren’t you assigned that case?”

Richard nods. “I was, back when I was in homicide. We suspected it was Kamski but never found any evidence to tie him to the crime. Some of our informants said Kamski wasn’t happy with Andronikov but most were too afraid to divulge too much.” He pauses, ponders over what North has told him. As a private investigator, she’s always seeking connections, reading between the lines and deducing the most likely outcomes. She’d make one hell of a detective, if she didn’t think all cops were scumbags. But he can’t help but be somewhat skeptical. “But if all this is true and Kamski did kill Andronikov, why would Chen align herself with someone just as terrible?”

“If the system you believed in for so long failed you and the people you swore to protect, wouldn’t you seek justice wherever you could find it?” North asks.

Richard really has no response to that. He gets the frustration, gets how disheartening it is when the worst of the scumbags can afford defense attorneys, who then use the broken system to their client’s advantage. It’s disgusting every time pieces of shit like Zlatko walk _,_ and half the time, the cops who watch them do are just as fucking shitty. The most Richard can do is bury his rage when another asshole evades a lifetime of imprisonment and returns home to his mansion. If North’s right about Chen, Richard almost can’t blame her as he has little remorse for the Zlatkos of the world who end up in body bags.

“Whatever you think of all this, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give Con and Hank a head’s up for any ex-cops-turned-PIs who may be spying on them.” North adds, “Chen’s got this whole ‘Jessica Jones’ look going for her and shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

Richard stares blankly at North. “I have no idea what that even means.”

“Con will know,” North replies. Then, with a frown, she glances up and down at Richard. “Is everything alright with you, Rich? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine,” Richard says, more harshly than he means to. He takes a deep breath and exhales, his tone apologetic even if he refuses to actually apologize. “I’m just...tired.”

North doesn’t look like she believes him. “You’d let me know if something was up, right? I don’t want to have to hear it from Connor that you’re pushing yourself too hard again.”

“If I collapse from exhaustion, I will prioritize informing you before contacting 9-1-1 services.”

“Stop being an ass,” North says, punching Richard lightly on the shoulder. “I worry about you, Rich.”

The concern in her tone is something not even Richard can pretend to not hear. She knows him better than anyone, can read through his bullshit in a way Connor never will. Connor can get lost in himself too easily and sometimes miss what’s right in front of him, as what Richard suspects is going on with Connor and Anderson’s affair, but Richard has never been able to put anything past North.

Coming around the island, North wraps her arms around Richard in one of her rare hugs. It’s tight and while Richard’s knee-jerk reaction is to stiffen up and push her away, he relaxes in her embrace and hugs her back just as firmly. He doesn’t realize until that moment how badly he’s needed this.

“If you need to talk about anything, call me,” she whispers.

His throat tight, Richard simply nods.

As she pulls back, he promises himself that he won’t put her, or anyone else in his life, through the same shit he had years before with his last relapse. They deserve better and he knows he can be _better_.

_I have to be._

* * *

But putting into practice what he promised himself he wouldn’t do is a lot harder than Richard expects.

He gets through another two days before he has his next relapse.

_The last time,_ he tells himself, wiping the powder from his nose on the back of his hand.

It’s true for all of another three days before he’s snorting lines in the bathroom to get him through more of the usual bullshit at work. Each hit is a shot of bliss that makes the stress more bearable, the world more crisp where all he ever sees are the lines blurred between injustice and expectation. Processing petty, non-violent possession and sending young offenders too poor to afford decent lawyers to prison, when their only fault is having a brain wired for drugs. Meanwhile, Rich is taking the same shit these people are being put away for. _That_ is how fucked up it all is.

To make it worse, assholes like Kamski and Reed get richer peddling their shit and since no one damn well wants to talk, those sitting at the top remain untouched by the law. Hell, Kamski might be sitting in prison on loose charges but even Connor’s admitted that unless they find something concrete, that asshole’s going to walk once his case gets dismissed. The only reason Kamski’s not posted bail is because the self-important prick has been sent to the lion’s den, but he’s no sheep; he’s the leader of the pride. And while he sits pretty and ‘innocent’ chained to his throne, Reed’s keeping their house in order.

Fuck narcotics. Fuck this job.

Nines glares at the evidence him and Connor are reviewing down in the archive, as if the more frustrated he gets, the more he can will the answers to appear before him.

Fuck Gavin Reed.

“Rich, did you hear me?”

Richard snaps his attention to Connor. “You were saying?”

“I was saying we need to find the missing link,” Connor continues, surveying the evidence once more. “Our informant says Dobbs started dealing for Murphy shortly before his death. He’s the reason Murphy’s business expanded into the east side, an area Kamski’s controlled for the last decade. Dobbs double-crossing Kamski is the main motive we have connecting Kamski to his death but what little evidence we have only ties Dobbs to Murphy.”

“Yes, I read the report,” Richard snaps. “You do not need to dictate it to me word for word.”

“I’m not trying to dictate it to you,” Connor argues. “You’re the one not paying attention.”

“Homicide should be handling this. Why the hell are we bothering when we’re _narcotics?_ ”

“ _This_ is why Hank requested you: because you’re the best detective in the homicide department and we need this to strengthen our charges against Kamski,” Connor says. A frown appears on his lips as he scrutinizes Richard closely and the younger twin can’t help but avoid Connor’s inquisitive stare. “What’s gotten into you, Rich?”

Richard’s itching for more blow but he knows he’s risking too much with Connor following him around all day. He hasn’t had any all morning and now he’s in the worst mood he’s been in for days. It’s easy to direct all his frustration at his brother because he’s not only covering up his relapse but also covering up the moron’s affair since Connor’s selfishness threatens more than his reputation. And despite Richard’s efforts, Connor still hasn’t come clean about anything.

So why the hell should Richard?

“It’s irritating that no matter how many times we look at the evidence, we circle to the same conclusion,” Richard lies. “Nobody working for Kamski is talking with your informant. Nobody who Dobbs sold to is saying anything. We’ve run into a dead end and until we discover the scene of the crime, all we have is a body and a rough estimate of the time of death.”

This is on the way to becoming an unsolved case. And fuck, does Richard’s pride not want to take the hit.

“We’re working on it, Rich; we just need to keep digging,” Connor reassures him. There’s a small smile on his face and it helps to smooth over some of Richard’s ruffled feathers. “We’ll get him this time. Then, all we need is to bring Reed down with him.”

Reed. There’s a name Richard would pay good money to never hear again.

He’s so sick of fighting a hard on every time he thinks of that smirking asshole.

“Why don’t we finish up here and report back to Hank?” Connor suggests. “Regroup and think of other ways to approach this. We won’t solve anything if all we do is argue over what we already know.”

“You talk to Anderson. I’d much rather avoid the stench of cheap aftershave and bad liquor,” Richard says, snidely.

“Rich,” Connor chastises, falling in step behind his brother. Connor grabs Richard by the arm once they are halfway up the stairs, causing him to stop his hurried strides. “Hank’s going through a lot right now. You shouldn’t be so hard on him.”

Of course, leave it to Connor to come to the old drunk’s defense.

“I understand that your partnership makes you biased, Con,” Richard starts, putting a special emphasis on the word ‘partnership’, “but perhaps don’t throw in your lot with someone as unreliable as the lieutenant. He’s a drunk on a downward spiral and he’ll only drag you down with him.”

A warning and the only one Connor’s going to get from him. But in their thirty years on this earth, Connor’s not once listened to Richard and he doubts he will this time.

“It’s not something he can control, Rich,” Connor says, quietly. His voice takes a slight edge as he adds, “I thought you would understand that better than anyone.”

A low blow as Richard’s past drug abuse is something they never discuss when they are surrounded by cameras. The DPD has no idea of his history of addiction, or his time spent in rehab, since his mother paid good money to keep the Stern name clean. Had she cared a little less, Richard could only imagine the shit he’d be into right now.

“ _I_ am nothing like Anderson,” Richard hisses. The comparison makes him curl his lips in disgust. “I am not that _weak._ ”

“Rich—”

Deciding he’s had more than enough of Connor’s lecture, Richard storms away, leaving his concerned brother in the stairwell. He beelines for his desk, taking his coat from his chair and snapping about needing a cigarette break when Anderson asks him about the evidence report. He’s a little surprised the imbecile remembered what he assigned them since he came back from his lunch break with alcohol on his breath. Of the jabs he’d taken against the lieutenant, that one had been very much on the mark.

Once Richard’s sitting in his car, he begins checking his pockets for the cocaine he’d stashed in there. His panic rises as his coat pockets turn up empty, along with his pants. He then tries the glove compartment, the console, and even the door panels. Cursing quietly, his frustration hits its peak when every inch of his car turns up empty and he kicks the seat back in place. Where the fuck did he put it?

_I must have left it at home,_ he decides, angrily.

He lights up a cigarette, not even caring that he’s breaking his own rule and smoking inside his car. His hands won’t stop shaking and he hates that he needs to wait another two hours. Because the universe hates him, it had to be on one of the few days him and Connor are working the same shift. With the mood he’s in, Richard’s bound to give his relapse away if he doesn’t hold his temper in check. He’s rarely the most cordial person to be around when dealing with a frustrating case but even he knows when to take a step back before he begins crossing lines. If Connor pulls his head out of his own ass for two seconds, he’ll see exactly what Richard’s hiding.

Tossing the cigarette out his window, Richard takes a few extra moments to breathe in deeply, calm himself, and set aside his irritation.

Just two more hours.

* * *

The club’s lights blur into vibrant, rainbow hues, stark and soft as they seem to melt into every surface they reflect off of. Bodies sway in time to the music blaring from the numerous speakers—some new EDM shit Richard wouldn’t be able to name for the life of him. He presses through the crowd, his skin on fire as he brushes against the hard bodies of men wearing flirtatious grins. A few try to coax him into dancing but Richard waves them off, his dry throat set on the bar: once he’s had a few drinks in him, he’ll take someone up on their offer.

The drugs are finally taking effect. MDMA is easier to come by in Detroit’s most popular gay club, though Richard’s certain he could’ve scored blow, had he been more patient. But he’d been desperate by the time he got here and took whatever was offered to him first. He can always get more coke later.

Pressing between the crowd gathered around the bar, Richard blinks blearily at the neon sign. He looks at it stupidly for a good minute as men around him shout drink orders. The bright colors swirl together and he squints to try and read whatever’s on the sign. Blowjobs, rumjobs, golden showers...what the fuck is this club selling?

Right. Disgusting shots with crass names.

Why the hell is he reading this? Richard always orders the same drink.

“What’re you having?”

It takes a good second or two for Richard to realize someone’s asking him a question. He turns to the man beside him, someone with a good decade or two on him and definitely _not_ his type. Maybe Connor’s, since his idiot twin has a hard-on for geriatrics.

With a roll of his eyes, he says, “Unless you’re making me my drink, that’s of no concern to you.”

He then tries to get one of the bartender’s attentions but both of them are busy serving other customers. It only puts him in a darker mood.

“I’ll do you one better,” the man tries again. “How about I buy your drinks for the rest of the night?”

“An offer like that is never without a price tag,” Richard retorts, frostily.

He hopes the asshole takes the hint because there are few things more miserable than wasting the night rejecting some creeper who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“All I’m asking is what you’re drinking, and a name, if you’re willing to give it,” the man answers. He holds up his hand, palm facing Richard, as a warm smile spreads on his face. “Scout’s honor.”

Richard stares skeptically at the stranger and weighs his options: worst case scenario, he gets drunk and horny enough that even if he ends up getting fucked by the prick in the back alley, he won’t remember it. Everything about the man’s demeanor is setting off alarm bells and he’s willing to bet that the man’s ‘generosity’ is simply a means to lower Richard’s inhibitions enough to concede to every one of this asshole’s sick whims.

But, also, free drinks.

“Gin,” Richard answers, “and nothing cheap.”

He never drinks gin. Time to be adventurous.

He reasons he’s got a high enough tolerance that it will take _a lot_ to reach that point of questionable consent. He’ll humor the man, have a few drinks, and then make some bullshit excuse about needing the restroom and disappear into the crowd. Then, he’ll find someone more preferable to hook up with.

“Two gins, Bombay Sapphire,” the man orders, once he gets the bartender’s attention.

Richard makes a face. He supposes it’ll have to do.

“Bill,” the man says, extending a hand to Richard.

Richard ignores it. “Richard. And if you make a single ‘Dick’ joke, I’m walking away. I can assure you, I’ve heard them all.”

“I believe you,” Bill says, with a chuckle. “Are you always this personable?”

“Is it not my ‘winning personality’ that convinced you to seek out my company?”

“That and your handsome face,” Bill admits. He makes a show of looking Richard up and down, the lecherous smirk on his face making Richard’s skin crawl. “You’ve got an amazing body.”

So much for intelligent conversation. Richard can already guess that anything that follows after this will also be a remark on his appearance. “I assure you I am more than aware of my ‘assets’.”

Anyone with self-respect wouldn’t enjoy being talked down to. Unless they’re a masochist or an egocentric prick, like Reed, who relishes in bringing out Richard’s bitchiest side for a verbal showdown. Just thinking of Gavin makes a familiar heat build inside of him and Richard fights to push down the memory, having promised himself he’s going to forget his one night stand with that asshole.

“You look like you work out,” Bill says, cutting into Richard’s thoughts.

Deciding that no amount of alcohol is worth the inane conversation, Richard glances around the club, seeking an exit. His eyes lock on a man leaning on the railing of the loft space overlooking the dance floor. Blood fills Richard’s cheeks as he realizes it’s the very person he’s trying to forget.

_What the hell is he doing here?_ Richard thinks, irritably.

“Are we doing shots?”

Richard glances back at Bill. From his peripheral, he notes the way Gavin’s gaze follows him. A slow, flirtatious smirk spreads on Richard’s lips as he takes his shot glass and clinks it against Bill’s. “Of course. So long as you keep buying.”

He downs the double-shot, the smooth burn of it more welcome than Bill’s company. When he turns back to the balcony, he sees Gavin’s expression has gone quite livid. If looks could kill, Bill would have been murdered ten times over with the way Gavin’s glaring at him.

Richard smirks. _Good._ Let that asshole see _exactly_ what he’s never going to have again.

“How ‘bout I get us some gin and tonics?” Bill suggests.

Cocktails? Seriously?

Richard doesn’t even look at him and answers, “Of course. Whatever you prefer.”

An attractive man sidles up to Gavin, and Richard feels a flare of irrational jealousy as he puts his hands on the gangster. But, much to Richard’s amusement, Gavin brushes off his ‘date’ and disappears farther back into the VIP lounge. Whatever’s gotten into him, Richard hopes it ruins the rest of Gavin’s night. It’s the least that asshole deserves after he tried to blackmail ‘Connor’.

Reminded that Gavin still thinks he’s his twin, Richard moodily returns his attention to Bill. He gives mostly noncommittal answers as Bill goes on about his latest business venture. Nothing Richard gives a shit about, even if he could be bothered to pay attention. The bar’s gotten busier and it takes longer for them to get their next drinks so Richard scans the dance floor and distracts himself by scoping out other men he can use to make Gavin jealous, should Gavin try and bother him later.

“Your drink.”

Richard blinks owlishly at the gin and tonic Bill shoves in his face. He’d been so distracted eyeing one of the men dancing on a raised platform, he hadn’t realized their drinks arrived. He takes it, forcing a smile that’s probably more frigid than grateful, and clinks the glass to Bill’s.

“Cheers,” Bill says, giving Richard one of his creepy smiles.

Richard’s about to sip from his drink when it’s slapped out of his hand. The glass crashes into the side of the bar and shatters, spilling its contents onto Richard’s shoes. He turns his head sharply to the person responsible and ends up face-to-face with a very pissed off Gavin Reed.

“Thought I told you to stay the fuck outta this club!” Gavin snaps. “Is your memory that fucking bad or are you a fucking idiot with a death wish?”

“Last I recall, it was not _this_ club you told me to stay away from!” Richard snaps back. “You don’t own this place and have no say on what I—”

“Step aside, Stern, I’ll deal with you in a goddamn minute.”

To Richard’s shock, Gavin pushes him out of the way and crowds into the space between him and Bill. The gangster’s angrier than Richard’s ever seen him and Bill’s scared shitless, shaking as Gavin gets right in his face. Gavin may be shorter but nothing is more terrifying when he’s wearing a look that says he’s killed and is two seconds away from doing it again.

“L-Look, I-I don’t want any tr-trouble—” Bill babbles.

“Are you so fucking pathetic you gotta use a little ‘help’ every time you want to get your dick wet?!” Gavin sneers. He grabs Bill by the hair and yanks his head back, causing the older man to choke back a cry of pain. “You couldn’t pay for a fucking whore instead?! What the fuck did I tell you last time I caught you doing this shit?!”

“Y-You s-said to stop. I-I have. I-I swear—”

The people around the bar have backed away from it and Richard notices one of the bartenders trying to get the bouncer’s attention. Maybe Richard should do something, like pull out his badge and intervene. But he’s as shell-shocked as everyone else by what’s going down and can’t take his eyes off the train wreck he’s witnessing.

“Don’t fucking swear shit ‘cuz I know what I fucking saw!” Gavin shouts.

He then smashes Bill’s face into the bar and there’s this sickening _crack_ Richard hears, even with the music blaring. Blood pours from Bill’s broken nose and Gavin does it once more, ignoring Bill’s muffled plea for him to stop. Then, with a grunt of rage, Gavin throws Bill down into the broken glass and gives him a hard kick to his stomach.

Finally snapping out of his shock, Richard grabs Gavin roughly before he can continue his assault. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“This prick tried to fucking roofie you!” Gavin says.

He shrugs off Richard’s hands and bends down, pulling the packet from Bill’s coat. Bill offers no resistance as he whines and curls an arm over his stomach. A cold, sick sensation leaves Richard staring dumbfounded at the packet Gavin presents him with, a few pills missing. He can’t believe he’d been so careless as to not watch his own drink.

“He tried this shit a few weeks ago, too,” Gavin explains, sneering down at Bill and giving him another kick. “I told this fucker if I ever caught him in here again, I’d cut his fucking dick off and feed it to him.”

Well... _that’s_ an image Richard certainly would rather not have burned in his brain.

“You cannot go assaulting people on a whim,” Richard starts.

Gavin makes a derisive sound. “You fucking serious? This asshole tried to rape you! Maybe start with a ‘thank you’ before you go on the ‘good Samaritan’ bullshit.”

“It is not bullshit. There are _rules_ , Reed, and you cannot simply take the law into your own hands—”

“What’s the problem here?”

A large bouncer glares down at the two of them. Richard’s about to pull out his badge and take charge of the situation, when Gavin pulls a few hundred dollar bills from his jeans and slips it into the shirt pocket of the bouncer. “This date-raping fucker pissed me off. Toss his ass out and I’ll give you more for your ‘trouble’ later.”

The bouncer does as he’s told, half lifting and half dragging the would-be date rapist to the entrance. Richard watches on in shock at the blatant display of power that’s unfolded, with Gavin giving zero fucks that’s he flaunting his influence in front of one of the people who’s working on a case to get him and his brother locked away for life. The bar may not be his but it’s obvious _who_ is calling the shots.

Within seconds, everything’s back to business in the club and Richard’s being pushed aside as one of the bartenders cleans up the broken glass and accepts a generous tip from Gavin.

Richard’s about to storm away in disgust when he’s grabbed roughly by Gavin. “Don’t you fucking try it, Stern. You’re coming with me.”

“Get your hands off of me,” Richard hisses, trying to rip away his arm.

But even if he’s putting up a weak fight, the skin beneath his thin shirt screams for more of Gavin’s rough touch. Maybe he can blame that on the Molly or his inexplicable attraction to the gangster. Whatever it is, it’s making Richard’s body ignore those boundaries he promised himself he would never again cross.

“You think the pricks running this place give a shit if I rough up some asshole detective?”Gavin says, with a cold chuckle. Richard’s protests weaken as Gavin drags him further into the club. “You may think you’re hot shit, _Richard Stern_ , but no one outside your little precinct gives a flying fuck what happens to you. You’re on _my_ turf and you’re gonna play by _my_ rules.”

Richard tenses as Gavin says his name. “So, you know who I am. Congratulations; you’re not as moronic as I initially suspected.”

“You’ve gotta twin who’s been sniffing in my business for too fucking long,” Gavin grumbles, squeezing them through a crowded hallway leading to the club’s bathrooms. “Bet everyone mixes you two fuckers up all the time.”

“I don’t see _how_ ; Connor wishes he had these cheekbones,” Richard retorts, haughtily.

Gavin smirks and then says, sarcastically, “Lucky fucking me, I end up with the one who thinks he’s fucking ‘cute’.”

“You _know_ I’m cute, Reed.”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Richard’s cheeks flare and he’s about to say something even more obnoxious when he’s shoved into a two-stall bathroom. His nose wrinkles at the smell of urine and vomit and he may be high but nowhere near drunk enough to understand how anyone could reach the point of desperation of using this place for an impromptu hookup. He glares at the couple pressed against one of the corners, who Gavin’s now interrupting.

“Bathroom’s occupied, assholes; get the fuck out!”

One of the men is ready to snap something back but his eyes widen when he sees Gavin.

“Shit; it’s Reed,” he mutters and drags his partner out of the bathroom with him.

Gavin bangs at the stalls. “You fuckers hear that? Out!”

One of the stalls opens and another couple scurries out of the bathroom, not before one of them gives Richard a saucy wink. Richard’s glare goes from irate to insidious.

“Was that really necessary?” he snaps at Gavin.

“You tell me; I’m still waiting on that fucking gratitude you owe me for saving your pretty ass,” Gavin snaps back.

“So you _do_ think I’m pretty.”

Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, Gavin shoves Richard against the stall door, hard enough that the entire structure rattles. There’s fury in his eyes and a sneer on the gangster’s lips and Richard can’t give a shit if Gavin roughs him up or ravishes him; all he knows is he _needs_ those hands to somehow find their way onto his hot flesh.

With Gavin’s warm breath tickling Richard’s neck, Gavin whispers, “You come in here looking like _this_ and flirting with some asshole right in front of me. Did you really think I was gonna let you walk outta here after that little show you put on?”

He licks a stripe up Richard’s neck, like a wolf tasting its prey before sinking its teeth in. It should disgust Richard but instead, it feels as if his flesh has been exposed to molten lava, burning beneath the tip of Gavin’s tongue. Richard wants to give in but, as always, his mouth refuses to cooperate and he’s blurting whatever bullshit he can to rile the gangster up more.

“No one _asked_ you to intervene,” he responds, condescendingly. There’s an unmistakable tremor in his voice, shaking with a need only Gavin can satisfy. “I had the situation perfectly under control.”

“It sure fucking looked like it,” Gavin retorts. “A trip on the express train to Roofie Ville and an overnight stay in that sick fuck’s bed. Guessing that’s just another Saturday night in the life of Dick Stern.”

“I _hate_ that nickname and you would know that if you had done your research,” Richard says, heatedly. He hates that Gavin’s talking down to him as if he’s some ignorant wallflower who doesn’t know how to act in a nightclub. “I came here looking for a good time, not to be lectured by some blackmailing thug who uses extortion to get his dick sucked. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He tries to squeeze by Gavin but the gangster has him pinned and it’s clear he’s not getting away until Gavin’s decided he’s done with Richard. A leg wedges between Richard’s thighs, Gavin’s hip now pressed to the detective’s rock-hard dick straining against the tight pants Richard’s regretting wearing. He swallows a groan because Gavin may have non-verbal confirmation of how much Richard’s enjoying this but Richard will be damned if any sound he makes adds to the asshole’s satisfaction: if he thought he ever had the upper hand, Richard’s quickly being proven wrong by his stupid dick.

“You really gotta mouth on you,” Gavin says, his shit-eating grin pissing Richard off. “Fuck, do I love it when you pretty boys give me attitude. Makes it that much better when you’re moaning from my cock.”

“Fuck off, Reed; I’m not in the mood for your games.”

“You sure about that?” Gavin whispers, rubbing against Richard’s dick.

A tiny whine spills from Richard’s mouth and his cheeks go scarlet. The hands that halfheartedly tried to push Gavin off of him now grip at the gangster’s beefy arms, fingers digging into the exposed muscle. Gavin’s probably the most under-dressed person in this club, in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, but it works in his favor, accentuating all that hard flesh Richard wishes he could run his hands over. It’s not fair that it takes so little for Gavin to work him up this much.

“But, hey, if you don’t want it, I’m not gonna force you into it,” Gavin says, taking a step back from Richard and folding his arms over his chest. Richard’s eyes are drawn to the pectorals that threaten to burst through the tight fabric they are caged beneath. He almost misses what Gavin says next. “Door’s right there, sweetheart.”

There’s a long pause before Richard realizes that Gavin’s making no effort to touch him again. It’s a way out, a way for Richard to take the high road and prove he’s not about to allow the man he’s investigating to end up ball’s deep inside of him again. Maybe if he wasn’t so fucked up on MDMA, Richard could tell himself he’d walk out that door and leave Gavin with some witty remark about how his ass is off limits. But, that’s the beauty of drugs: they are an excuse for the worst of Richard’s decisions.

“You insufferable prick,” Richard sneers.

Unable to resist any longer, Richard pushes Gavin into the wall behind him, kissing the triumphant smirk off his lips. Something of a groan traps its way up his throat, Gavin sating the worst of Richard’s cravings with his mouth alone. How many nights has this remained at the forefront of his mind as Richard tried not to touch himself, tried not to give in? The roughness of them makes Richard press into Gavin for more, the burn of stubble delicious as it rubs against his smooth chin.

“Fucking love it when you sweet talk me,” Gavin smirks, nipping a path along Richard’s jaw.

Richard gasps and grinds against Gavin, offering no resistance when Gavin flips them over and uses his superior strength to pin Richard against the grimy wall. The gangster pops open a few of Richard’s shirt buttons and slides his hand across Richard’s left pectoral, thumbing at Richard’s nipple. It pebbles beneath Gavin’s touch and Richard arches while Gavin gropes him, losing what little of his composure remains when Gavin begins suckling at his throat. He tries to swallow a moan, not wanting to draw any attention to what they’re doing but it only makes Gavin chuckle.

“No one’s gonna hear you, sweetheart,” Gavin whispers huskily. “’Cept me. You gonna keep making those pretty little noises for me, gorgeous?”

The last of the buttons are popped open and Gavin pushes the material aside, leaving the shirt hanging off of Richard’s arms. Tongue and teeth trace and nibble a trail from Richard’s neck, lavishing his flesh with tiny marks. When Gavin’s daring enough to sink his teeth a bit deeper, Richard responds with a strangled cry, his nails leaving tiny crescents as they grip at Gavin’s arms. It’s strange to think that he’s about 90% certain few people in this world hate him as much as Gavin does but none have ever worshiped his skin as thoroughly as the gangster has. Gavin’s as bad as anything else Richard’s put in his body: one taste and it’s already made him an addict.

Maybe, on some subconscious level, the fact that Connor identified this club as one frequented by Gavin is the real reason Richard found his way here tonight. Because, like everything that’s ever been terrible for him, Richard always finds a way of losing himself in his destructive fixations.

“You got cute tits,” Gavin muses and begins laving at a nipple with his tongue.

Richard’s face goes scarlet, his voice hitching, as he retorts, “Th-They are not ‘tits’. They’re—”

The words crack when Gavin sucks on it and whatever argument Richard was going to make is then lost as he throws back his head and bites his lower lip to mask the sounds vibrating in his throat. Gavin’s palming his dick and all that friction is making Richard’s flesh heat, his chest and face slicked with a sheen of sweat. The shirt somehow found its way to the floor as he belatedly realizes his bare back is pinned to the disgusting bathroom wall. Not that Richard cares.

Beneath his muffled groans, the sound of his pants being unzipped brings everything back into focus. The neon lights of the bathroom blur and melt together, painting Gavin in a faint green and blue glow. His grin is devilish, pointed canines peeking at the corners of his lower lip. Never has anyone looked more sexy in shitty neon lighting. Eager to once more taste those coarse lips, Richard tugs Gavin’s face up to kiss him with wanton abandon.

Pulling Richard’s tight jeans low on Richard’s hips, Gavin’s hand slips inside. The moment it wraps around Richard’s cock, the detective exhales sharply into the kiss. He breaks away to elicit a small moan, dropping his sweaty face to Gavin’s shoulder as the gangster begins to stroke him. Fuck, it feels more wonderful than it should, the sensation exacerbated by the weeks Richard ignored beating himself off to the memory of Gavin fucking him on that cocaine dusted coffee table.

_It’s not because it’s Gavin touching him,_ he tries to tell himself. How believable the lie is when Richard’s brain is hopped up on bursts of dopamine and serotonin. He simply needs an outlet for his pent up frustration.

“Almost forgot how fucking huge you are,” Gavin whispers, glancing down between them as he pulls Richard’s dick out of his underwear. Gavin’s hands are not small, though his fingers are shorter but thicker than Richard’s. Still, his hand only covers half of Richard’s cock as it wraps around the base. With practiced ease, he pumps his fist up and down Richard’s shaft and Richard watches as he works, shaking beneath Gavin’s touch. The pearls of precum that have gathered at the tip are slicked across Gavin’s palm, who then resumes his stroking. When he turns his gaze back to Richard’s, his playful smirk makes the detective’s stomach flip. “Can I suck your dick?”

At a loss for words, Richard can only nod dumbly.

Gavin drops in front of him and Richard cants his hips to bring his cock closer to the gangster’s lips. The evil tease that he is, Gavin runs the edge of his tongue over the head of Richard’s cock, then retreats with a smug smile. Richard huffs in frustration.

“Patience, babe, I’m getting there.”

As irrational as it is, it bothers him that Gavin looks just at home on his knees in a grimy club bathroom as he does bending over some coked up twink and pounding them from behind. The thought even crosses Richard’s mind, _How many times has he done this?!_

Swallowing an unhealthy dose of jealousy, Richard finds himself asking, “What about your date?”

It takes a second for Gavin to realize Richard’s referring to the man he saw him with earlier. Crouched in front of Richard, with his lips only inches away from Richard’s dick, Gavin shrugs and responds, “You really wanna talk about the asshole I’ll be fucking later when I’m about to suck you off?”

There it is. The boundary. Being here is already crossing a line and Richard knows he’s pushing it if he demands anything other than the no-strings-attached fun he came here for. He can’t help it: he’s always been the jealous type but jealousy comes with the danger of admitting he gives a shit. Which he doesn’t.

“I’m only asking because I would much rather we continue _uninterrupted_ ,” Richard purrs, stroking aside a few strands of Gavin’s hair that have fallen across his forehead. He then tangles his fingers where the hairs are a bit longer and pushes Gavin’s face towards his weeping cock. “If there is no issue, perhaps you can get to that ‘sucking off’ I was promised. I’m beginning to get bored.”

Gavin laughs but instead of a blowjob, he maneuvers his face and bites the inside of Richard’s thigh. Hard. Fuck, does it hurt, but it’s not a _bad_ kind of pain and the cry Richard makes is almost begging to feel more of Gavin’s teeth on him.

“You always so goddamn mouthy when you’re getting blown?” Gavin teases. He thumbs the slit of Richard’s cock, collecting dribbles of cum, and smearing it over the tip. “Don’t fucking interrupt a master when he’s working, babe.”

“Must you always—”

A low groan spills from his sharp tongue, Richard rolling his hips to help Gavin take him in. There’s no build up, no teasing: Gavin goes right for it, easily sliding all nine and some inches of Richard into his mouth. As Richard peers down with his half-lidded gaze, he watches the gangster hollow out his cheeks, hears the loud squelch when his dick squeezes into the narrow cavern of Gavin’s throat. Gavin’s lust-blown eyes flit upwards and there’s something possessive and almost mocking about them. Like he’s relishing in the fact that only he has the power to make Richard feel this _good._

“Gavin,” Richard moans, experimentally pulling out half-way and thrusting back in. Besides the wet squish of his cock pushing in as far as he can go, Gavin looks otherwise unfazed.

_Fuuuuuck_

No one’s ever deep throated him successfully and as Gavin sucks him off, fondling Richard’s balls while his mouth works the detective’s dick, Richard struggles to keep from cumming too soon. He never imagined being deep throated would feel this good, the dizzying vibrations coming from the back of Gavin’s mouth making Richard’s legs begin to quiver. He guides Gavin’s head with one hand, the other gripping Gavin’s shoulder to remain upright. Without Gavin anchoring him, Richard knows he’d collapse from how amazing Gavin’s mouth feels, working him as if he’s had years to learn Richard’s body better than Richard knows it himself. It’s so goddamn intoxicating, Richard forgets the stench of the bathroom and, more importantly, _why_ it’s a problem that Gavin is the one making him feel this way.

“Oh, Gavin,” Richard groans loudly, thrusting hard into Gavin’s mouth.

There’s a gurgling sound, the gangster breathing hard through his nose. Still, he sucks greedily on Richard’s cock, like a thirsting whore desperate to swallow his fill. His flattened tongue pressing to the sensitive flesh beneath the head of Richard’s dick, Gavin suckles on the tip, eyes demurely capturing Richard’s. The shameless display is too much for Richard, and he pulls Gavin’s hair viciously, shoving his dick in as deep as it will go. Bleary, gray eyes meet Richard’s own and fuck, the asshole seems to actually _enjoy_ the rough treatment he’s getting.

Richard’s thrusting ceases and he holds Gavin’s head in place, the tremors in Gavin’s throat feeling so exhilarating, Richard knows this is it. He’s so damn close, dangling precarious from the edge, ready to empty hot and thick down Gavin’s throat. All he needs is a little _push,_ another moment to—

Gavin pops off his dick with a wet _smack_ , globs of saliva dripping down his chin. He meets Richard’s frustrated look with a hoarse laugh, giving a loose pump before removing his hand from Richard’s throbbing cock. Not even the irritated sound Richard makes can wipe that infuriating grin off the gangster’s face.

“Think I’m gonna let you finish this soon?” Gavin taunts, breathing heavily. His hungry eyes climbing upward until they lock onto Richard’s own.

The ache in Richard’s balls is begging for release, his body trembling as he’s denied. He weakly moves his hips, a silent plea for some friction, but Gavin stops him and tuts in disapproval. Prick.

“You want me to make you cum that bad?” Gavin asks. Because he’s a sadistic asshole, he licks the tip of Richard’s cock, lapping his tongue along the slit, all the while holding Richard’s intense gaze. It should feel satisfying to see the gangster on his knees but instead, it’s become pure torture as Gavin once more removes his mouth from Richard’s cock.

“Obviously,” Richard retorts, trying to push Gavin’s face back towards his crotch.

Gavin, however, doesn’t cooperate, rising to his full height and wearing a lewd smirk. He pushes Richard back against the wall, slides his tongue across Richard’s lower lip until Richard’s mouth parts and gives the gangster access. His moan is swallowed in their kiss as he tastes the hint of himself on Gavin’s tongue.

“The only way you’re cumming is with my cock in your pretty little ass,” Gavin whispers against Richard’s lips. He reaches around him and squeezes Richard’s left cheek and Richard feels, more than sees, the grin Gavin’s wearing. He knows he has Richard right where he wants him. “Now, you’re gonna be a good little detective and you’re gonna bend yourself over that sink and fuck your hole open while I watch. Think you can do that for me, Nines?”

Richard’s face is on fire. He hardly ever touches himself there and the few men he’s slept with usually do that for him. It’s somehow both humiliating and arousing that Gavin wants to watch him stretch himself.

“Can you not do that yourself?” Richard demands, his tone condescending.

“Can’t a guy watch another guy fuck himself?” Gavin chuckles. He nuzzles Richard’s cheek, tracing his fingers over Richard’s abdomen as he whispers, heatedly, “You’re gonna look so fucking hot, babe. Fucking yourself and begging me to fill you with my cock instead. Put on a good show and maybe I will.”

He gives Richard’s cock a generous pump and Richard utters a whine when Gavin removes his hand. Fuck, does he need to cum but Gavin’s making the rules and Richard once more finds himself wanting to please the bastard.

With an arrogant scoff, Richard pushes Gavin back and saunters towards the sink. The only time he’s felt in control in Gavin’s presence is at that moment, as he feels Gavin’s eyes follow the sway of his hips. He pulls his jeans and underwear down until they are mid-thigh, bending to give Gavin a good look at his ass in the neon lighting, and then reaches for one of the packets of lube on the counter. The club’s not at all subtle about its approach to sex. The bathroom counter has two bowls: one with lubricant and the other with condoms. That just makes fulfilling Gavin’s request easier.

Squeezing the packet’s contents into his hand, Richard coats the cool liquid on his fingers. Then, he reaches back and positions them at his entrance. A shiver escapes his lips as one lubed finger brushes his hole. It’s colder than he’d like but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Any time now, sweetheart,” Gavin teases, but there’s an audible hitch in his breath.

Richard glares at him through the mirror. “I am working up to it.”

The truth is, he’s a lot more nervous than he’s willing to admit. Gavin’s cockiness always brings out the obnoxious side of Richard, who’s ready to meet the gangster barb for barb. But when it comes to sex with men, Richard’s almost completely out of his depth and can’t exude the same confidence that comes to Gavin so easily. That shyness also extends to playing with himself in front of an audience.

Inhaling sharply, Richard nervously pushes a finger in himself. The moment he presses past that first ring of muscle, he gives a small gasp, his damp forehead falling to the cool mirror. He shivers around his finger, hungry for more of that enticing pressure as his inner walls squeeze to accommodate the intrusion. Once his index finger is buried to the last knuckle, he releases a small mewl. He then experimentally retreats until its almost all the way out before shoving it back in.

“Oh,” he whimpers, bumping his head against the mirror. He doesn’t register the sting, too enthralled by the burn of the stretch as he begins to fuck into himself. He builds a steady rhythm, a cacophony of sounds tumbling from his parted lips, and almost forgets that Gavin’s watching him. It’s easy to forget his nerves when he’s indulging in himself in a way he’s only let other men do to him.

“That’s it, babe,” Gavin whispers, his voice thick. “Keep fucking yourself.”

When Richard lifts his head, he sees Gavin in the mirror, the gangster’s eyes drawn to Richard’s hand. A flush splashes across Richard’s cheeks but any nerves that remain die away as he sees Gavin rubbing himself through his jeans, his lower lip drawn between his teeth. Gavin’s looking at him with nothing but pure desire, as if holding back to witness Richard’s show is a struggle. He wears the look of a man ready to throw Richard over the nearest surface and fuck his brains out and nothing has ever made Richard feel more wanted.

Brimming with more confidence, Richard adds another finger, keening against the sink with a muffled groan. Burying it in deep, he then scissors his fingers, reeling from the prickling sensation as his body fights the intrusion. Ignoring the discomfort, he begins to pump them in and out, the pain soon becoming a delirious thrill as his body aches for something thicker to fill him.

“G-Gavin,” he moans, his voice a strangled plea, “f-fuck me.”

He glances back in the mirror and watches hungrily as Gavin undoes his jeans, freeing his thick cock and giving it a firm stroke. The sight of Gavin watching him, stroking himself and groaning as Richard seduces him with his little display, is almost too much for Richard. Hearing the slap of Gavin’s hand as it jerks his dick is a cruel reminder that there’s something else Richard would much rather have inside him.

“Gavin,” Richard tries again, pushing back onto his fingers, “I want you to—ah!—f-fuck me!”

The desperation in his voice must be what makes Gavin give in, the gangster chuckling thickly but sauntering up behind Richard. He takes Richard by the wrist, pinning both of the cop’s arms to the mirror with one hand, and then reaches around to pinch one of Richard’s nipples hard. The sharp sting of it, coupled with the loss of his fingers pumping inside of him, makes Richard whine in protest. Gavin, however, seems to relish in Richard’s impatience.

“Christ, how much E did you take?” Gavin asks, with an amused laugh.

“What makes you think I’m on anything?” Richard demands. The panic of being caught is unwarranted but a gut reaction from a history of hiding his addiction from North and his family.

“Think I’ve never fucked someone on Molly before?”

He realizes it’s fruitless to deny anything to someone who’s made his fortune supplying a good chunk of the drugs in Detroit. Instead, Richard shifts the focus to what he’d rather be doing and begins to grind back against Gavin’s unwrapped cock. He’s rewarded with a low shudder, Gavin’s face pressing to the back of Richard’s shoulder to bury a moan against his sweaty skin. Richard is too high to care for the consequences and positions himself until his entrance is pushing back onto the head of Gavin’s dick, only stopped by a hand firmly gripping his waist.

“F-Fuck, babe. You keep doing that and you’re gonna get us both in trouble,” Gavin gasps, his breath falling hot against Richard’s skin.

“Would it upset you if I admitted I want you to cum inside of me?”

Richard turns his head and noses at Gavin’s hair, disappointed that Gavin continues to prevent him from grinding back onto his dick. He recklessly entertains how it would feel if Gavin came hot and hard inside of him, dribbles of it leaking down his thigh and creating a filthy mess. He’s not had anyone cum inside of him in years and part of him is craving how good it would feel.

“Fuck, I wanna cum in you so badly, babe,” Gavin admits, his voice cracking with want. He kisses Richard sloppily, making a show of sucking on the detective’s tongue before breaking off the kiss. Gavin tastes of whiskey and tobacco, a flavor Richard will never get enough of. “But that’s not how this shit works. You want my dick in you, you gotta let me wrap it.”

With his free hand, Gavin takes one of the condoms and tears the wrapper with his teeth. Then, pulling out the condom, Richard feels Gavin shift behind him, the gangster exhaling against Richard’s neck as he slides the rubber on. He then takes another of the lube packets and opens it, squeezing out the liquid so it oozes down down Richard’s crack. Richard shivers as Gavin coats his entrance and then smears the remainder over his sheathed cock.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” Gavin whispers. He kisses the side of Richard’s throat, trailing his lips up to Richard’s jaw. The detective nods, pulse hammering at the term of endearment.

Lining himself up to Richard’s entrance, Gavin grunts as he begins to push inside. The thick head of his cock makes it barely through the first ring before Richard’s crying out. The burn is intense, but not entirely painful. Still, Gavin stops immediately.

“Don’t think two fingers was enough...”

“Keep going,” Richard demands, pushing back to draw Gavin in deeper. The sound he makes is similar to the one he made moments before but Richard doesn’t want this to stop, doesn’t want Gavin to treat him like he’s breakable. If Richard breaks, it’s because he _wants_ to be broken.

With some hesitation, Gavin continues to press in, pushing and stretching Richard until his balls are hitting the back of Richard’s ass. The contented groan that reverberates in Richard’s ears is the reward Richard refused to allow Gavin to deny him. Gavin may have some other nightclub slut to fuck later but Richard wants to be so good for Gavin that he’ll be the only one Gavin thinks about long after Gavin’s had his fill from this encounter.

“Fuck, you feel _good_ ,” Gavin murmurs, running a hand down Richard’s chest.

It’s more uncomfortable than Richard wants to admit but warmth curls low in his belly as he hears the note of pleasure in Gavin’s voice. He tries to move but Gavin has him pinned, with one hand still holding Richard’s wrists against the mirror and the other gripping his waist. He’s impatient for Gavin to pound into him but he’s left to the mercy of whatever pace Gavin’s going to set.

“Are you going to fuck me or are you going to continue to stand there uttering what I already know?” Richard grunts out.

He might secretly love how Gavin’s rough layers of ‘badass gangster’ begin to peel away the more intimate they become but Richard’s never one to play nice. ‘Playing nice’ is giving in and he wants to pretend he hasn’t completely surrendered to the prick.

Gavin kisses the crook where Richard’s shoulder meets his neck and the gentleness of his lips makes Richard’s feel lighter. “Lighten up, babe. We’re goin’ slow ‘cuz I wanna make this good for you.”

Richard’s grateful for the neon lighting, which hides the blush he can feel creeping to the tips of his ears. The tender admission shouldn’t make him this lightheaded, make him want to give in so easily. But if there’s anything he’s learned in their few encounters, submission is the only language Gavin responds to.

“Gavin...” Richard turns his head, presses his lips to the gangster’s temple. Gavin’s lips meet his a moment later for another messy, wanton kiss and as Gavin breaks away, Richard whispers, his voice quaking with want, “ _Please._ ”

Gavin’s smirk is back in place and Richard hates himself a little for being reduced to begging yet again. But it gets him what he wants.

With great care, Gavin begins to pull out, barely an inch or two back, before rolling his hips to once more fully sheath himself in Richard’s tight heat. Richard whines the gangster’s name, moving his hands to grab the counter’s edge when Gavin eases his grip on the detective’s wrists. From the mirror, Richard watches Gavin retreat and then thrust in properly, answering with a loud groan that echoes off the walls of the bathroom.

Fuck, this is _exactly_ what Richard’s needed, maybe more than the drugs.

The counter begins to rattle as Gavin sets the tempo, each careful thrust finding him deep inside of Richard. Gavin’s as vocal as he was the first time, not seeming to give a shit if Richard knows how much he enjoys fucking him, nor caring if his moans reach beyond the walls. From what Richard’ seen, the club is willing to bend over backwards for Gavin’s continued patronage and that can be the only reason no one’s stepped in this bathroom since Gavin dragged him in here.

Humiliation deepens the flare in Richard’s cheeks as he realizes exactly _what_ that big show of bringing him down that crowded hallway had been: it was Gavin’s victory march, a silent and public declaration of his latest conquest. And Richard, fucking moron that he is, let himself be paraded here like some prized lamb to slaughter.

It should make him angry. He should be absolutely _furious_ that he’s being penetrated by the same prick who manipulated him into snorting coke on camera.

Instead, that more self-destructive side of Richard, the side that loves to indulge in his risky habits, secretly relishes that from the moment he stepped in this club, Gavin decided Richard was _his._

“Fuck, Nines,” Gavin groans in his ear, followed by the drag of teeth across the lobe.

That odd nickname shouldn’t smooth down Richard’s sharp edges as effectively as it does but any time Gavin’s said it, Richard’s found himself less resistant to the gangster’s charms. He gasps as Gavin builds the pace, the gangster’s thicker fingers pulling and tugging at one of Richard’s nipples. It’ll be pinched red by the morning and Richard can’t be sure why Gavin has a sudden obsession with his chest, but he’s definitely not complaining. He encourages Gavin with more whimpered cries, the gangster’s name the only word he needs as he presses back onto Gavin’s dick. There’s a steady pressure that’s been building inside of him and Richard knows he can’t hold on, needs that release Gavin’s already denied him once.

“G-Gavin, I...I can’t...”

With unexpected strength, Gavin forces Richard down, bending the detective so his chest is almost flat over the sink. With Richard now bent over instead of standing, the angle intensifies, the slap of Gavin’s balls as the gangster pounds into him louder than the pleas spilling off Richard’s tongue. Richard’s at the edge, dots spotting his vision, and as Gavin slams against that perfect spot, the gangster’s name hangs in the air as heat explodes from Richard’s core.

Everything fades. The shitty music from the club, the neon blues and greens of the bathroom. All Richard is aware of is the sensations that ripple from low in his torso, threads of white that pour from the tip of his cock. He gasps as his cock is pumped, milked until there’s nothing left to give, and all Richard can do is weakly rut into Gavin’s grip before he’s finally spent. He pants hard, collapsed across the sink, his damp cheek smearing into whatever liquid lines the counter. He hope to God it’s water.

Fighting to regain his breath, Richard almost forgets Gavin’s still inside of him until he feels the loss of pressure as Gavin pulls out. He makes a sound of protest, his body quivering, but Gavin’s soon helping him up and as Richard blearily gazes at Gavin with confusion, the gangster utters four words, “Get on your knees.”

Being on his knees is easier than standing and Richard immediately complies, albeit nearly falling as he positions himself in front of Gavin. Ripping off the condom, Gavin chucks it somewhere behind them, and then takes his throbbing dick in his hand. He begins to pump, stroking himself as Richard stares hungrily, one hand gripping Richard’s hair to keep the detective’s head in place. Anticipating what’s to come, Richard parts his lips wide and gazes up at Gavin with lust-blown eyes.

“Ah fuck, babe, you l-look so f-fucking gorgeous like that,” Gavin groans, stroking himself faster. His voice hitches, exhaling hard, and tugs Richard’s face a bit closer. “F-Fucking waiting to eat my cum—”

He barely finishes what he’s saying, low moan ripping from his throat as cum spurts from his cock and paint Richard’s face. The warm, thick threads mostly miss Richard’s mouth, hitting his cheek and chin, so Richard sticks his tongue out, catching the remainder as Gavin jerks himself to completion. The musky, bitter taste is something Richard’s not as used to but he swallows what he can, feeling filthy in a way he welcomes as Gavin gazes down at him in approval.

With a groan, Gavin collapses against the sink, breathing hard. The hand that had been tugging Richard’s hair now pets aside the damp strands. Richard can’t be sure what it is about Gavin after he finishes—maybe it’s the momentary loss of his bravado, a glimpse into the vulnerability he rarely reveals—but whatever it is, it makes Richard feel an almost overwhelming affection for the last man he expected to be fucked by.

Or, maybe it’s the MDMA. It’s always safer to blame it on the drugs.

Whatever it is, Richard rises to his feet, tilts Gavin’s face towards his, and kisses him softly. He’s almost expecting Gavin to pull away, given that they aren’t exactly on ‘friendly’ terms, but Gavin instead snakes an arm around Richard and tugs him closer, kissing him more deeply. Tasting himself on Richard’s lips must make the gangster more possessive because for as gentle as Gavin’s being, Richard can’t help but get the sense he’s also being claimed. It doesn’t hinder Gavin’s charm when he pulls back and swipes a glob of cum from Richard’s cheek, licking his thumb clean. All of this is endearing him more to Richard and that is something he knows is dangerous.

“You gonna keep staring at me, sweetheart, or you gonna get cleaned up?” Gavin teases.

And just like that, the mood shifts. Gavin strolls into one of the stalls with the swagger of someone who always gets what he wants, the sounds of him ‘relieving’ himself a reminder of where Richard is.

Richard wrinkles his nose in distaste as he gets a good look at the bathroom, paper towel and used condoms strewn around the garbage can. That’s not even taking into account the smell. As if he let someone fuck him in here like he’s some wanton cockslut without standards.

Moodily, Richard snatches his shirt from the floor, wisely choosing to not obsess over why it’s so damp. The lights of the bathroom are starting to irritate him and the beginnings of a headache is only hinting at how bad the comedown is going to be once the Molly wears off.

By the time Richard’s buttoned his shirt up, Gavin’s washing his hands in the sink. That cocksure attitude is back and even if Richard found it charming earlier, it somehow pisses him off now. When Gavin goes to tug Richard in for a kiss, Richard rudely shoves the gangster away.

“Do not think I’ve forgotten what you did the _last_ time we were in this situation,” Richard snaps.

Richard might have his instances of weakness but now that he’s over his momentary lapse in judgment, he’s going to assert to Gavin _exactly_ where they stand: on the opposite sides of a justice system only waiting for the right evidence to come along to lock the prick away for life.

The warm smile Gavin was wearing immediately disappears from the gangster’s face. There’s a cold glint in his eyes as he retorts, “You really gonna bring that shit up _now?_ Funny how that wasn’t a fucking issue when I had you bent over the sink.”

“ _You_ are the one who brought me in here and proceeded to treat me like I’m one of your junkie whores ready to please you for my next hit,” Richard sneers. “You will excuse me for merely indulging your pathetic whims.”

“My ‘whims’?” Gavin says, with a cold laugh. “Newsflash, princess: I gave you every fucking chance to get the fuck out of here. Not my fault you’re too fucking full of yourself to admit you goddamn like being fucked by me.”

_Princess?!_

Richard’s expression darkens. Gavin’s right. There’s nothing more humiliating than succumbing to someone Richard knows is beneath him. But, like all of Richard’s shitty life choices, he’s reaching for any excuse that frees him from personal responsibility. “You blackmailed me. Do you think I’m in any position to reject you when you’re holding _that_ over my head?”

A look of disgust mars Gavin’s normally handsome face and he twists away from Richard, stalking towards the door. “You know what? I don’t have to fucking take this shit. Tell yourself whatever fucking helps you sleep at night, Stern. I’m fucking _done._ ”

“Enjoy your freedom, Reed,” Richard taunts, wanting to get in one final jab, “because with the way you’ve been conducting yourself, it won’t be long until you join your brother behind bars.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Gavin visibly tensing. There’s a deadly air about him, the tension between them so thick, Richard would be choking on it, if he remembered to breathe. He knows he shouldn’t push but when has his pride ever allowed him to back down?

“Oh, so we’re doing threats now?” Gavin’s hand hovers over the knob and then, moving quicker than Richard expects, he grabs the detective and throws him against the bathroom stall. There’s fury in Gavin’s eyes and a sneer on his lips as he whispers, “How’s this for a fucking threat? You tell that redheaded bitch who’s been tailing Chen to back the fuck off. Or the next time you see her will be in a body bag.”

Richard narrows his eyes, blood cold at the thought of Gavin laying his hands on North. There are few people he’d stick his neck out for, even if it does come with the job. But anyone threatening North will quickly find their way to the top of his shit list.

“Got it, prick? Or do I have to fucking spell it out for you?” Gavin snaps.

“I would be careful _who_ you threaten, Reed,” Richard warns, “even if you think you can use that video on me to silence me into submission. You will quickly learn that I am not someone whose bad side you want to be on.”

“Jesus Christ, you and that _fucking_ video!” Ripping his phone out from his pocket, Gavin unlocks it and scrolls to the recording from the other club. As the video plays on Gavin’s phone, Richard’s face grows hotter and he gets angrier. But just as he’s ready to demand Gavin shut it off, Gavin snaps, “This is the only fucking copy I have! You wanna know what I think of your fucking video?!”

Taking his phone, Gavin chucks it as hard as he can, smashing it into the opposite wall. The phone breaks, screen so cracked that the video stops playing. Chunks of the phone have broken off and with it, the one thing threatening Richard’s career. There’s no way the phone will work now.

Staring at Gavin in shock and disbelief, Richard recoils a step back when the gangster turns his enraged glare towards him. Maybe it’s instinctive as the last time Gavin was this angry, he busted Richard’s nose with the blunt end of his gun. Either way, Richard’s not sure he can believe Gavin would willingly destroy the only thing he has against Richard, but he also doesn’t want to fuck with the gangster when he’s this pissed off.

“If you really think I only brought you in here to keep blackmailing you, then you’re a fucking idiot, Stern.” It’s uttered quietly and with a note of hurt that not even Richard can pretend to not notice.

Returning to the door, Gavin pauses before opening it and leaves Richard with these parting words, “Do us both a favor and stay the fuck away from me.”

Then, he’s gone, shutting the door with a controlled calm not even Richard would be able to fake.

Left alone in the bathroom, Richard stares down at the broken phone. A million thoughts run through his mind but the worst of them is the realization that he may have fucked up. He doesn’t know _what_ exactly but it was _something._

With a cry of rage, he punches the wall in front of him, falling against it and breathing heavily. His knuckles sear and he knows he’ll be wearing bruises that will only invite questions from his annoying coworkers, if Connor or Hank can be bothered to notice anything outside of the selfish bubble they live in. He won’t hold his breath on that one.

The door opens and Richard lifts his head, expecting to see Gavin. Instead, a few men come in, most ignoring him to finally use the freed up facilities. He catches one looking at him and whispering something to his companion and when Richard self-consciously swipes a hand across his cheek, he colors as he feels the drying cum still on his face.

Well... _fuck._

This night only keeps getting better.

* * *

Like he predicted, the comedown is a fucking nightmare.

He barely gets any sleep in the few hours between collapsing into bed and his alarm blaring to remind him to get to work. There’s a foghorn going off between his ears and it feels as if his head’s been split open, pain rippling from his temples. He crawls to the edge of the bed, flinching as his bruised hand reaches for the jeans he wore the night before. To his disappointment, his pockets come up empty, Richard recalling that he ingested the last pill before leaving the nightclub to keep his high going. He’s paying for it now and unless he can remember where the fuck he left that last gram of cocaine he’s misplaced, he’ll have to go an entire shift without anything to placate his cravings.

For perhaps the first time in weeks, Connor’s at home so Richard is careful to not let his irritability trigger any ‘concerned big brother’ speeches, though it doesn’t stop him from snapping at Connor to stop hogging the espresso machine. Connor gives him a look that matches Richard’s irritation but doesn’t take the bait, not in the mood to be roped into an early morning argument. From the circles under Connor’s eyes, Richard guesses that his twin also had a long night, one that most likely ended with him creeping through the door in the early hours of the morning after leaving some seedy motel room. His affair is secretly a blessing since Connor’s too distracted disguising his own suspicious behavior to notice Richard’s. Whatever keeps him off Richard’s back.

They go to work in separate vehicles, something that they used to never do when working the same shift. But Connor mutters some bullshit excuse about needing to go over a case with Hank after work and Richard’s not going to question it. It will make it easier to swing by the dealer’s if Richard isn’t being chaperoned by Connor.

Once at work, Richard storms to the locker room, ignoring the few greetings he receives from his coworkers. Only Miller is brave enough to try and engage him in some banal chit chat but at the murderous look Miller’s given, the cop mutters something about needing to see Anderson and removes himself from Richard’s path. Richard’s never been very chatty, not even on the days he isn’t ready to murder anyone standing between him and his next hit of dust. There’s a reason he’s earned the nickname ‘Dick’ around the department.

Opening his locker, he’s dismayed to see everything in perfect order. He would have had to shift things around to hide drugs in here, unless he was careless enough to slip the snuff vial in the pouch of his DPD hoodie. He never wears the thing, preferring his designer shirts and cuff links. Perhaps it adds to how intimidating he is in interrogation, since he looks more like a Bond villain with a penchant for torture than a detective with any interest in following ethical interrogation procedures. It’s never really been an issue but Richard has to admit that there were times when he was... _tempted_ to break protocol.

_Where the hell is it?_ He wonders, after twenty minutes of picking apart and rearranging the contents of his locker. Seeing everything in a different order upsets him more than it should, as few things bother him more than something being out of its designated place. Irritably, he shoves things back into place, the pounding in his head causing him to be more careless. Items bang together, the few manuals he keeps in there crash to the floor and by the time he’s put everything back where it originally was, he’s breathing heavily, mouth curled in a sneer and glaring at his locker, as if it’s to blame for the shit he’s gotten mixed up in over the last 24 hours.

Maybe if he’d had his blow, he _wouldn’t_ have went to that club. He wouldn’t have let that moron buy him drinks and then Reed wouldn’t have—

But no. He’s not going to think about that asshole.

He’s _done_ with Reed.

“Looking for this?”

Richard whips his head in the direction of that voice. His stomach drops as he sees the snuff vial held between Anderson’s thumb and forefinger, the lieutenant wearing a look of disapproval as he crowds the space between the lockers and the bench. He’s blocking the exit, which means Richard has no choice but to confront his demons head on.

But if Anderson thinks he’ll cave, he’s in for a wake up call. Richard’s played this game before. He played it first with North, when he started seeking more intense highs than the blunts they would share beneath the bleachers by the football field. Then, it was Connor, who tried to intervene before it got out of hand. When his mother entered the picture, Richard was almost at a point of no return and if she hadn’t pushed for him to go to rehab, Richard would have never gotten clean.

The first step to getting caught? Deny, deny, deny.

“I am not certain what gave you the idea that that belongs to me,” Richard starts, a dangerous edge creeping in his voice, “but I suggest you point your finger elsewhere. I’ve never seen that before.”

“Funny you should say that,” Anderson retorts, his expression darkening, “’cuz I found this under your desk last night.”

Richard’s eyes narrow. It must have fallen out of his coat pocket. Time to try a different tactic. “If this is some sick hazing prank you imbeciles in narcotics do to new detectives—”

“Enough of the bullshit, son,” Anderson interrupts, his tone becoming more severe, “I’ve spent enough time in narcotics to know the signs when I see ‘em: you’re using again.”

Richard’s about to deny it once more, prepared to argue until he’s blue in the face. But something about what Anderson says gives him pause, a single word that doesn’t fit with the rest of the accusation: _again._

How in the hell does Anderson know about Richard’s history of drug abuse?

All explanations point to one source.

“Connor told you,” Richard says.

There’s disbelief in his voice, shock that Connor would say anything. Richard and Connor may have their issues but Connor’s _never_ broken Richard’s trust like this. He wouldn’t because that’s not the kind of shit brothers _do_.

“He was worried about bringing you onto this case,” Anderson explains, as if anything he says will make Richard forgive what Connor’s done. “He was just looking out for you. Don’t be mad at him for giving a shit.”

“Connor has _everyone’s_ best interests at heart,” Richard sneers sarcastically. In truth, he’s more hurt over Connor’s betrayal than he is upset someone has connected the dots and caught him relapsing. Anderson could have him fired and all Richard would obsess over is what he intends on saying to Connor the next time he sees that backstabbing asshole’s face. “It’s a wonder anyone trusts him when this is proof that he’s nothing more than a selfish piece of—”

“Careful what you say, Stern, because one word from me and Fowler will have you suspended, if not fired, for this shit!” Anderson’s face has gone red and Richard knows he struck a nerve by insulting the lieutenant’s ‘precious’ Connor. It’s just his goddamn luck that every moron in this place also buys into Connor’s ‘golden boy’ persona.

_He’s the one fucking around with a married man and yet I’m the villain for my ‘indulgences’,_ Richard thinks, bitterly.

“You’re better than this, Rich. We both know you are,” Anderson says, with a sympathetic look on his face. Richard could roll his eyes. He has little doubt the idiot is probably comparing his own problems with substance abuse to Richard’s. “So, why don’t you let me get rid of this and I promise not to tell Con or Fowler. We don’t have to turn this into a goddamn soapbox.”

“A generous offer,” Richard remarks, dryly, “what’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” Hank replies. His expression once more becomes serious. “It’s a chance for you to get your shit together. Take it to turn your life around and get clean. Everyone fucks up but this doesn’t have to be the end of your career.”

Richard stares at the vial Anderson holds, shifting his gaze between the answer to his cravings and the earnest look the lieutenant’s giving him. Hank must think he’s being the ‘good guy’, giving Richard that second chance he doubts he’d get if any of his other superiors found this. He’s had his share of screaming matches with Fowler, mostly for Richard’s refusal to work with anyone without having to upstage and belittle the morons he’s paired with, and the last lieutenant he worked under was two seconds away from quitting any time her and Richard breathed the same air. If Richard didn’t bring results, his uncooperative nature would have gotten him fired years ago.

“Perhaps, you think you are doing the ‘right’ thing with your offer, compelled by the belief that you are no different than myself and if I can change, then maybe you can, too,” Richard says. His tone is frostier than his glare as he folds his arms over his chest, straightening his posture. He may be the same height as Hank but since he doesn’t carry himself as if he’s bearing the brunt of the world’s bullshit on his shoulders, that automatically makes him appear taller. “But there is one thing you’ve underestimated about me and that is that I know Connor _better_ than you ever will. I know when my brother’s hiding something from me and, let’s just say, I have my ways of procuring ‘proof’ of my suspicions.”

A strange look passes over the lieutenant’s face but Richard sees exactly what he’s looking for: the hint of panic Anderson tries to disguise. Richard may be speaking vaguely but there’s only one thing he can possibly be referring to. “What the hell does Connor have to do with this?”

“It seems you would much rather I state what we both know to be true,” Richard responds, his lips curling in a cruel smirk. “I find it ironic than you dare lecture me on my behavior when you not only have your own issues with substance abuse but have also been engaging in some...questionable relations. It’s almost sad that you continue to hold Connor to some unattainable moral standard when he’s the very person coming between you and your wife’s marriage.”

The color drains from Anderson’s face and the lieutenant flinches a step back as Richard’s smirk becomes maniacal, the detective leaning in close to whisper, “I know about your affair with Connor. And if you should so much as try to go to Fowler or Connor, I’m sending Mary the pictures I have of you two. I’m sure that will make for some riveting dinner conversation.”

Guilt and anger keep the lieutenant rooted in front of Richard, who watches with suppressed glee as Anderson’s caught between a rock and a hard place, a mixture of emotions passing over Hank’s face. Serves him right for attempting to manipulate Richard.

“You’re a goddamn prick,” Anderson snaps, each syllable accentuated by his anger.

It only amuses Richard more. “I will also be taking back that vial you stole from me.”

He holds out his hand, waiting for Anderson to cave. The lieutenant practically slaps it back in Richard’s palm, his face so contorted with rage, he looks ready to snap Richard in half. Richard almost wishes he would try as he’d love to have an excuse to deck the asshole fucking his brother. He’s sure Connor will get all weepy-eyed and try to play mediator because even if Connor can’t be trusted with Richard’s personal history, Richard’s still certain his brother would try to remain in his good graces.

“You’re making a mistake, Rich: I’m trying to help you!” Anderson protests.

“I never asked for your help, nor would I ever want it from the drunken disgrace warming my brother’s bed,” Richard sneers.

And just because he knows he can get away with it, Richard pops open the vial, presses it to his left nostril, and snorts the remainder of its contents. It’ll take a moment for him to feel the hit but the act of finally getting his blow leaves him more elated than he’s felt in hours. Anderson makes a sound of disgust as Richard wipes the dust from his nose.

“From now on, Anderson, stay the hell out of my business or I can assure you, I will _not_ be staying out of yours,” Richard threatens.

He shoves the empty vial in his back pocket, leaving his threat hanging in the air with Anderson glaring at his retreating backside.

Fuck, does it feel good to _finally_ be in control again.


End file.
